


It was just a movie

by whiteReaper



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Dealing with PTSD, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteReaper/pseuds/whiteReaper
Summary: It's not something that can be easily avoided. Nobody gives a warning for fire.





	It was just a movie

It was as if a rock had been slammed into his stomach, hands wrapping around his throat, and Bakura had to physically remind himself to take each breath as the panic clawed up inside of him.

The trigger had been damn stupid, and already quiet curses were falling passed his lips, directed at himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The movie continued to play on Ryou’s old laptop, given to him when the other bought a new one. The scene continued to play, all but forgotten. It was just a damn bonfire, teenagers talking and drinking at it was supposed to be a feel good scene-

The memory wasn’t always clear. He couldn’t remember how the ground beneath his feet felt, or where he ran. Those were blurs, lost to time, lost to his own panic. All he could remember was the fear, the moment he came face to face with a damned soldier and ran, ran faster than he ever had in his life before, harder than anyone would think the body of a small child was capable of. Air didn’t matter, the rocks cutting into his feet didn’t matter, his own limitations didn’t matter. If he didn’t run, he would die. The thought pulled him along, pushing pushing pushing.

Bakura didn’t remember much after that. 

His stomach lurched and he threw himself off of the couch, slamming into the bathroom, stomach emptying its contents into the porcelain bowl with a vengeance. Again, again, again, until nothing was left and he could only dry heave. A shaking hand brushed the bangs out of his face, stuck to his forehead with sweat. Falling back to sit on the floor, the same hand clenched into a fist, suddenly striking the floor with a force that sent pain shooting up his arm.

He hated it, hated how even when he was the safest he had ever been the panic would still find him, sending his head spinning. Hated how he would never escape that night.

Suddenly Bakura felt the tension, the stiffness flood out, and he was just tired. Tired physically, tired mentally. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the floor right there but somehow he managed to drag himself to his feet, shuffling back to his makeshift bed on the couch. 

The laptop had slid to the floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Closing the lid he left it where it was, movie no longer of any interest. He started to collapse onto the cushion, but hesitated. Eyes darted to the windows, to the kitchen, the door to the small apartment. A split second decision had him returning to the bathroom, blanket and pillow in hand this time. Throwing them into the (thankfully dry) tub, he locked the door behind him. It was wood, and could be broken down, but the small dark space felt infinitely safer than the living room had. He laid down then, pulling the shower curtain closed as an extra precaution. It was all unnecessary, logically he knew, but that did nothing to quell the panicked whispers of his mind. 

Exhausted, he let his eyes drift closed. Sleep felt far away with the memories only just pushed out of the forefront of his mind, but the episode had taken a toll on his body, consciousness slipping as sleep claimed his weary body.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's so short- This was mostly a vent piece for me. I really want to see more TKB dealing with this honestly? Having to run for your life... It's something that messes you up.


End file.
